


There is Music and Love Everywhere

by Pearl09



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nanny Ashtoreth isn't as bad as she seems, and actually sleeps, at least crowley has the plants, brother francis doesn't know shit about plants, but honestly aziraphale would have been shit at both jobs, he doesn't know how to take care of a living thing, seriously why are they so blind, so he knows more about the human body functions other than eating, two dumbasses in love, well okay he knows a little, wow didn't mean for that to be a callout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-07-20 00:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19983043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearl09/pseuds/Pearl09
Summary: With the Antichrist on the earth, a certain angel and demon disguise themselves to help raise the child. What they were not expecting when they signed up was for the young boy to point out their romantic feelings for each other.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from _[The Millionaire Waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-P0VznfK_E)_ by Queen
> 
> Thanks for reading! This is prompt two of the Good Omens fan exchange on twitter, written for Luci_moose! The prompt for this was, "Who listens to them anyway?" To be honest I never thought this prompt would turn out like this. I use the prompt in each chapter, mostly talking about music. Enjoy!

Mrs. Dowling just wanted some peace and quiet. With Mr. Dowling gone almost all the time, she was the only one raising Warlock for a while until she finally found an acceptable Nanny. She found herself pushing raising the child more and more onto the Nanny, but she still felt overwhelmed all the time. That is why she suggested to Ashtoreth to take Warlock out to the Zoo. Just the two of them. When the gardener asked for that day off, she did not hesitate – then it would be quiet outside too.

This is why Warlock is currently in the back of a vintage Bentley owned by his Nanny, with Ashtoreth behind the wheel and the gardener in the passenger seat. They were now stuck in what seemed like an endless string of traffic.

“I’m bored,” Warlock complains, throwing his expensive phone into the seat next to him. 

“This is why I told you not to come this way,” Brother Francis says before producing a snack for Warlock. “I’m sure traffic will let up soon, and when we get there, we will go see whatever animal you want.”

The car falls into silence again as Ashtoreth grips the wheel tightly, sneering at the traffic in front of them. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Francis says. “Do not drive this car off of the road and drive in the grass, that’s against the rules!”

“Don’t tell me what to do, angel,” Ashtoreth spits back, but her grip on the steering wheel lessens. 

Warlock looks between the two adults curiously. He does not think he has ever met two people who seem to be the complete opposite of each other. Then again, if Nanny didn't like the gardener, then she didn't have to let him in the car. He will never understand adults.

“Nanny says rules are made to be broken,” Warlock chimes in, earning Ashtoreth a stern glare from Francis.

“If you break the rules in places other than the house, Warlock, then you can get in real trouble and go to prison for it.”

“They do that on the telly,” Warlock says, nodding. “They always break out, though.”

Ashtoreth smirks as Francis scoffs, and the car falls back into silence.

“Can you put on some music?” Warlock asks, growing tired of the quiet.

“Of course,” Ashtoreth says, turning the stereo on as traffic finally starts to move again. Freddie Mercury starts to blare through the speakers; music Warlock has never heard before.

“What band is this?” he asks.

“Queen,” Ashtoreth says, then mutters under her breath, "It’s the only band this bloody car will play anymore.”

Surely he would have heard of this band if anyone actually listens to them. “ **Who listens to them anyway?** ”

“Who listens to them?” Ashtoreth repeats, incredulous. “They’re insanely popular; I think everyone listens to them. Whether they know it or not. Whether they want to or not. I listen to them too, clearly.”

“What about you, Brother Francis?”

Ashtoreth answers for him. “Francis listens to them too; he’s in the car with me enough that I’m sure he’d be able to recognize a few songs.”

“I don’t regularly listen to this – bebop,” he corrects, “But I have heard them before, yes.” His tone changes as he yells, “Watch out for that car!”

“Remind me again, angel, who has the driver’s license here?” But she swerves around the car anyway as the Bentley finally speeds through the streets. The song ends and _Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy_ starts playing. Ashtoreth sneers at the stereo before smacking the button to turn it off. Warlock does not ask to turn it back on again, suddenly becoming extremely interested in his bag of snacks.


	2. Chapter 2

“Come on, Nanny, I want to play outside!” Warlock begs, casting a longing glance to the bright, clear skies outside.

“Not without sunscreen, you’re not. You can’t spread evil if you get sunburnt. Then all you’re going to want to do is lay around until it heals, wasting perfectly chaotic days.”

“Okay,” he pouts, sitting down so Ashtoreth can spread the lotion around his exposed skin. She makes sure to put extra on his ears, because she knows humans always forget about them, and if her boss ever found out she let his ears burn…

“It rained last night so I really should change out of my heels,” she ponders aloud. “I can’t chase you around if my shoes keep sinking into the ground.” Closing the lotion bottle, she says, “Wait here while I go fetch better shoes, and then we can go outside.”

Warlock nods, but as soon as Ashtoreth leaves the room, he hops off of the chair and pulls the sliding door open. If he knew anything about his Nanny, it was that she would not be mad he left without her. She might even congratulate him. The sound of music somewhere hits him immediately as he steps into the freshly mown grass, so he follows his ears, ending up in the back corner of the garden, where Brother Francis has a phonograph set upon a folding table.

“What are you doing out here?” Francis asks in greeting, looking around for Ashtoreth.

“I left Nanny in the house to get new shoes. I wanted to play outside. What’s that?” He points to the phonograph currently playing celestial harmonies.

“Oh!” Francis says as he looks to where Warlock is pointing. “This is an old music player. Not many people seem to use them anymore, but you can’t go wrong with a good record.”

“What is it playing?”

“These are called hymns.”

Warlock tilts his head as he listens to the piano and almost angelic choir before asking, “ **Who listens to them anyway?** ”

“Who – Why everyone does, young boy,” Francis answers with a nervous laugh. He looks up and sees Ashtoreth stalking over with a frown that seems to grow deeper with every step. “This is the music of the churches,” he adds – would the antichrist even be able to go into a church?

“Brother Francis, what are you doing?” Ashtoreth asks tersely once she is close enough.

“The roses aren’t doing so good; they’re such finicky flowers, you know. So I thought playing some music for them would be nice!” He smiles at the end, genuinely believing his idea was great.

“Plants don’t work that way, angel.”

“Brother Francis says everyone listens to this music, Nanny. Do you?”

“No,” she answers, pressing her fingers into her forehead. She glares at Francis and hisses, “Some of us get headachesss.”

Francis’ eyes grow wide and he hurries over to the phonograph, quickly pulling the needle off of the record. “I’m so sorry, my dear, I didn’t think–”

“Don’t worry about it,” she interrupts, massaging her temples as some of the tension in her face starts to release. Once her headache has lessened enough, she turns her attention back to him. “If you really want the plants to grow better, you need to intimidate them.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Francis says, furrowing his brow.

“Watch closely,” she retorts, “Both of you.” Stepping close to one of the withering bushes, she purses her lips before growling, “You pathetic excuse for a rosebush. What are you doing, wilting? Don’t you know you’re supposed to grow and not wilt? If you don’t grow, I will personally cut you down piece by piece until I finally get a healthy bush. Or until you’re completely gone. Your choice.”

The flowers are absolutely terrified – Brother Francis can see them shaking, and watches as a few shades of color start to come back to the bush. 

“You can’t just threaten the plants, dear!” he protests. “You have to take care of everything with tender love and care.”

“Your tender love and care ended with wilting flowers. My threatening just made them grow some. Tell me who is doing your job better.” She purses her lips and says, “Come on, Warlock. You wanted to play.”

Warlock looks between them before running back towards the house, trying to figure out if he should ask the question he wants to or not.


	3. Chapter 3

Warlock decided he was going to ask his mother the question net time he was alone with her. When Nanny asked for the morning off, and Mrs. Dowling was stuck with him, he decided to spring the question.

“Mum,” he starts, getting her attention. “What does it mean when someone calls someone else dear?”

Mrs. Dowling purses her lips in thought. “It’s like a nickname for someone close to you. Some people use it for children, but they can use it for a partner in some kind of romantic relationship too.”

He thinks on this before asking, “What about angel?”

“That one would probably only be between partners in a romantic relationship.” She pauses. “Why are you asking all these questions anyway?”

“Nanny and Brother Francis use them a lot,” he answers before going back to his coloring book.

Raising an eyebrow, Mrs. Dowling says to herself, “Ashtoreth and Francis? If that’s true… She can do so much better.”  
~~~  
“I heard a rumor,” Mrs. Dowling starts that evening, having the room to just her and Ashtoreth as Warlock was put to bed already.

“I can try and assuage it,” Ashtoreth says, “If I know of it.”

“Warlock asked me some interesting questions this morning. He asked me what it meant when someone calls another person ‘dear’ and ‘angel.’”

Ashtoreth tenses, but her expression remains unchanged. “Did he?”

“He said you and the gardener use them for each other.” She turns around to pull a glass out of the cabinet. “We don’t have a rule against workers dating; I just would have liked to hear it from one of you rather than my son.

“We aren’t dating,” Ashtoreth says immediately. “I don’t know where the boy got such a ridiculous idea.”

Mrs. Dowling looks back at her with a raised eyebrow, saying, “He wasn’t the one that said that, it was me. I mean, I do think you can do so much better than him, but I don’t think I’d ever use pet names on anyone I wasn’t in a relationship with.”

“It isn’t a pet name–” she stops herself abruptly. She’s always called Francis angel because he is a literal angel. But Mrs. Dowling would not understand that; much less believe it. Ashtoreth looks down at the floor, confusion filling her face, trying to figure out if she ever meant it as a pet name.

Mrs. Dowling sets a glass of wine on the table in front of Ashtoreth, startling her out of her thoughts. “You didn’t realize until now,” she states with a nod. “Go ahead and sit down; we can talk it out.”

After having a couple of glasses of wine between the two of them, Warlock enters the kitchen. “Nanny?” he asks tiredly, looking up at the woman. “There’s a monster under my bed.”

She purses her lips and stands, taking Warlock by the hand and saying, “Let’s go show that monster who’s boss.” Once they are out of earshot of Mrs. Dowling, she says, “You’re supposed to rule the world someday; you need to show him you’re in charge.”

He nods. “What were you and Mum talking about?”

“Adult things, dear. Though I’ll give you an extra sweet tomorrow for being nosy, I like that.”

The monster under the bed proves to be a coward, for Warlock informs Ashtoreth they are gone as soon as she demonstrates for him how to properly assert dominance over them and scare them away.

As Warlock climbs into bed, Ashtoreth turns the radio on, soft enough that Warlock can sleep with it but loud enough that it will bother anyone in a nearby room.

“What is this?” he asks, bundling under the covers.

“The BBC.”

“ **Who listens to them anyway?** ”

“You do now,” she says with an eyebrow raised, almost threatening. “I’m not changing it.”

“Okay,” he answers quietly, already drifting off to sleep.

Ashtoreth shuts the door behind her quietly and pauses a second before deciding not to go back to Mrs. Dowling. They talked enough; now, it was time for her to dwell on these things herself.


	4. Chapter 4

It was a nice day out, so Warlock asked if he could spend some time out in the garden again. Nanny Ashtoreth, tired of trying to entertain him today, agreed once she spotted Brother Francis trimming the hedges.

“Brother Francis!” he calls out, racing across the lawn to the man in question.

“Ah, young Master Warlock!” Francis sets his shears down, the rest of the bush suddenly perfectly trimmed and proper. “What are you up to today?”

He shrugs as an answer. “There’s not anything interesting today.”

I know just what to do,” Francis answers, poking Warlock’s nose. “Why don’t you come with me to the greenhouse?”

Warlock follows him into the glass house on the lawn – he was not allowed in there by himself, so this is his first time in the bright room. Soft instrumental music plays from somewhere else in the greenhouse as Warlock marvels over all the small potted plants everywhere.

“These small beauties need plenty of love and care,” Francis tells Warlock. “A few of them need soil changes. Can you be gentle enough to help me nurture and move the plants to better pots?”

Warlock nods eagerly, ready to get his hands into the dirt.

After a few minutes, Warlock asks, “What is this music? It doesn’t have words.”

“This is called classical music. A lot of classical music is purely instrumental, meaning there are no words. Many classical composers wrote absolutely stunning music in their day. Bach, Mozart…” he trails off as he realizes Warlock has no idea or interest in who these men are.

“ **Who listens to them anyway?** ”

“Lots of people,” Francis answers. “Classical music is just that – a classic. If you want specific people, I do, and your Nanny listens to it too. Perhaps unwillingly on her half, though she never complains when she’s over and I have it on…”

“Do you love Nanny?” Warlock asks suddenly, causing Francis to drop the potting soil he was holding. 

“Why would you think that? I hardly know her; she spends most of her days in the house while I’m out here.”

“You call her dear a lot, and she calls you angel. Mum said people who are in relationships usually do that. Every time the two of you see each other, you both seem to cheer up, like the couples on the telly.”

“Oh,” is all Francis can say. He thinks back, trying to figure out when he started calling her dear. “Oh, don’t pull it out by the leaves!” he says, coming back to reality before Warlock murders the plant. “We have to dig it out, and then put it in this empty pot here!” He busies himself with the plants to keep his thoughts in line for the moment.

Later, Ashtoreth shows up at the greenhouse to fetch Warlock for dinner.

“Is everything okay, angel?” she asks before leaving, Warlock already running back to the house.

“Yes, of course,” he answers hastily, trying to wipe the confusion from his face. “Why wouldn’t it be? Everything is fine. Absolutely tickety-boo.”

“Tickety-boo?” she repeats, but he has already escaped through the door on the other side of the greenhouse, trying to get some alone time to think about what Warlock said.


	5. Chapter 5

Crowley and Aziraphale both had the day off to report to their respective offices on the status of the Antichrist. Afterward, they met up for a meal at the Ritz and continued over to the bookshop for drinks. 

After a few bottles, Crowley found himself unable to restrain from voicing his thoughts. “You know, angel,” he says, pushing his hair out of his face before taking another drink. “Mrs. Dowling cornered me a few weeks ago with an interesting topic of conversation.”

Aziraphale moves from the stack of books he was rifling through, sitting down with his wine glass on the other side of the couch Crowley is on. “Well dear, if it is about those demonic lullabies you keep singing to Warlock, I did tell you–”

“No, no, she asked if I was in a relationship.”

Aziraphale freezes in the middle of bringing his glass to his mouth. “Oh?”

Crowley realizes what he is saying suddenly, but knowing Aziraphale, he could not drop the topic now. He sobers up to make sure nothing else accidentally spills out before saying, “She thought I was in a relationship with you, because of something Warlock said.”

They share a glance before looking away from each other, fighting away blush. Seeing a certain amount of alertness in Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale sobers up too; but still takes a drink from his glass after.

Aziraphale clears his throat. “You know, Warlock asked me something… similar, in the greenhouse.”

“Really?” Crowley asks, his head snapping back around to look at the angel.

He nods.

Silence falls between them, but after a few minutes, Crowley can not stand it anymore. “Where do you suppose they got that idea?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Aziraphale says, refusing to make eye contact with Crowley.

“Angel…” he trails off as he tries to figure out what to say. “Do you – do you suppose they were right?”

Aziraphale’s head snaps up suddenly to meet Crowley’s eyes. “Do you think so?”

Crowley’s hand starts to reach out across the couch to Aziraphale, but he freezes when he suddenly remembers sitting in his Bentley in 1970 when the angel said, _You go too fast for me, Crowley._ His hand lands on the cushion between them instead as he pretends that was where he meant to put it. Looking away, he says, “Forget I said anything.”

Aziraphale frowns, ignoring every instinct he has and everything he has ever been told to reach out and place his hand next to Crowley’s on the cushion, his pinky draping itself over Crowley’s. Startled at the touch, Crowley quickly looks at their hands, eyes wide.

“I asked you a question, dear,” Aziraphale says softly.

“I – yes,” Crowley finally admits, setting his wine glass down on the table.

Aziraphale follows suit with a small smile. “I do think we’ve been a little oblivious,” he says, shifting his hand so it covers Crowley’s completely.

“I think you’re understating there,” Crowley smiles back, sliding over on the couch so that he is closer to Aziraphale.

“Wait –” Aziraphale starts before Crowley can do anything else. “What about our – our head offices?”

“ **Who listens to them anyway?** ” Crowley asks before leaning in, letting Aziraphale close the rest of the distance as they press their lips together in their best approximation of a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk with me on [tumblr](https://pearlll09.tumblr.com)!


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